


31 Days of Porn, Uglywettie Style - Day #17

by UglyWettieWrites



Series: 31 Days of Porn, Uglywettie Style [7]
Category: Casanova (UK)
Genre: 31 Days of Porn Challenge 2017, Adventure, David Tennant - Freeform, Erotica, F/M, Fingerfucking, Forbidden Love, Frotting, Giacomo Casanova - Freeform, Kissing, Masturbation, Putting her pleasure before his, Seduction, casanova - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 08:03:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10940355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UglyWettieWrites/pseuds/UglyWettieWrites
Summary: Giacomo Casanova already has quite a reputation in Venice and beyond. Women covet him, while men better born covet his success in society - like a cat, he always seems to land on his feet.At his friend Carlo's request, he pursues a seemingly boring woman in mourning, but discovers quickly there there is much, much more than meets the eye with her.





	31 Days of Porn, Uglywettie Style - Day #17

The crowd stirred visibly as he entered the room.

 Giacomo! _Really, he's here?_ Casanova, the cheeky bastard! _After the scandal with Lady Schottgard, the nerve!_

He appeared in a peacock silk doublet and sleeves trimmed in improbably fine lace. His honey hair was tied back in a matching satin ribbon.

“Now, the party can truly begin,” he said, giving everyone a roguish grin.

A chubby, well-powdered man ran to him, trailing his beautiful companion.

“Heavens, darling, I thought you’d never show! This party’s a dud.”

Giacomo looked around. People were drinking, laughing, and flirting.

“I don’t see what you mean, Carlo,” he said, taking a glass of wine from a passing servant.

The man sighed dramatically, emitting the pleasant scent of sandalwood. “I suppose so, but my guest of honor has been no fun whatsoever. I’m miffed.” He pointed at a woman sitting in a corner, quietly reading from a missal.

“What’s so special about her?” He eyed her mourning black critically.

Carlo gave him a predatory grin. “You look, but you do not see, Giac,” he said.

He walked by the table groaning with refreshments to get a better look at her. She had hair darker than her dress, and no jewelry save a band cut out of onyx on her engagement finger. She looked stiff and uncomfortable around the people screaming and laughing around her. Her skin was not powdered, but it glowed in the candlelight. She turned the page of her missal with a graceful hand, and kept reading.

“What do you see?” Carlo was almost bouncing beside him. “Come on, man! You’re clever.”

Giacomo drained his glass and grabbed another one. “I don’t know…”

Her face was smooth as a marble Venus’. The black aged her, but she was younger than she looked. Her dress was very well cut, and new, so her look was deliberate. He looked down at her missal. Her hands. Upon closer inspection, her pale fingertips looked bruised. Dirty. Inky. And most compelling of all, the book in her hands was not a missal.

A smile grew on his lips.

Carlo squealed with glee.

“I have a vague but coalescing idea in my head, but it couldn’t be. Not her. She’s as somber as a crow.”

“Oh, it’s her. I know it. I can feel it. Here.” He patted his lower belly. “It’s like ... a vibration.”

Giacomo looked at Carlo’s new cavaliere. He went through them like handkerchiefs, but he couldn’t begrudge him. In his way, he was no different.

“Your taste has shifted,” he whispered in Carlo’s ear. 

He squeezed the tall, thickly muscled man’s waist. “It certainly has. I have seen the light. I’m done with fey little men who can’t be bothered to give a proper show in the bedroom. Luca here can go all night, and most of the morning as well,” he said, twirling a tendril of his hair in his fat, pale finger. “Can’t you, dear?”

“Yes, and we can go right now if the party’s not exciting enough for you,” the man said with a surprisingly deep voice.

Carlo flushed with pleasure. “Talk to her, Giacomo, and tell me every single detail of what you did after.”

Giac put his arm around him and gave him a noisy kiss. “You know I don’t do that,” he said. And he didn’t. “You’re making the assumption I’ll get in with a smile.”

“Have you ever not?” Carlo said, forgetting. Luca pulled him toward a dark corner, already eager for a bit of semi-public action.

Giacomo picked an apricot from the fruit bowl and stared openly at her. She did not seem ruffled by his steady gaze.

Hmmph. There’s no better way to start a conversation than to say hello, he thought, and walked up to her, his fingers still sticky with apricot gore.

“Hello, signorina-,” he started. She cut him off.

“-Signora,” she said, not looking up from her reading.

“I’m Giacomo Casanova,” he said, unable keep the pride from his voice.

She caressed the page, then turned it slowly, smoothing it down before getting back to her reading.

“I know who you are.” She looked up just long enough for him to see her eyes. He rocked back on his heels. She was exquisite. Her left eye was gold, but her right eye was violet. Not blue that looks violet in a certain light, but a pale purple as velvety and cool as its namesake. “The temperature of the room rose when you came in. It’s positively boiling in here,” she said, looking towards the knot of women looking at them, whispering and giggling.

“I suppose word gets around,” he said.

“It does. Rich women do love bragging about their pretty _things_ ,” she said. Although she complained of the heat, it was his brow that was damp.

“A lack of discretion on their part can be seen a complimentary, to the right person,” he said, not missing a beat. “They just couldn’t hold it in.”

“Being on society’s wagging tongue must be part of the pleasure for a creature like you,” she said, taking a sip of white wine. She turned the page.

“I much prefer a tongue well-occupied," he said, leaning on the wall.

She looked up, giving him a long, mirthless look.  He jutted his hips out toward her. Her breath did not hitch, nor did the color on her cheeks rise. She was cold as December.

She closed her book and stood up. “It’s been a dubious pleasure, Signor Casanova,” she said. She nodded curtly, and left.

* * *

And of course, he ran after her.

She had a carriage waiting for her, drawn by four gorgeous black horses. He ran around to the other side and snuck inside before she could be helped in. She stepped inside, and her livery boy closed the door. A  candle burned on a cut-glass sconce by her head. She didn’t feel him. Her face did not have the haughty look she had worn with him. She tugged on the high neckline of her dress with increasing frustration, and threw the book on the floor. Tears shone in her eyes.  Her lips trembled with deep emotion.

They jerked into motion. She bit her thumbnail and looked out the window.

He bent to pick up the book. “Signora…”

“Mary, mother of God!” she said, stifling a scream with her palm.

“It’s me, Giacomo,” he said. The woman’s eyes were wide with fright. Her hand went to a fold in her dress and grasped something. He leaned into the light.  “See? You’re safe.”

Her breathing slowed. “Hardly,” she said, pulling a jeweled poniard from her skirts.

He was impressed. “You came to the party better equipped than I,” he said.

Her fist was still white on the handle of the beautifully honed blade. “That’s a pity.”

He waved the book in his hands. “Not many women go to balls to read the missal,” he said, thumbing the pages. “Is there something here interesting enough to revisit over a glass of wine after midnight?”

She tried to take the book from him, but he moved beside her and lifted it high above his head. She pressed into him trying to get it back. He couldn’t help taking a deep breath. She acted old, but she still smelled like a young woman - perfume cut with copious pheromones.

“Give it back, Signor!” she said, surging up, but he moved too quick. She slapped him, slashing her mercifully short, well-groomed fingernails across his cheek.

He rubbed his stinging face. “A simple ‘if you please’ would’ve sufficed.” He handed her the book.

“I’m Stella Violetta Sforza di Mocenigo. I don’t need to please you, or anyone,” she said, pressing the book against her chest.

The chubby little devil, he thought. A Sforza married to a Mocenigo. Not only noble to her bones, but related to the fucking Doge. Ha!

He hedged his bets and bowed his head. “I apologize for startling you, mistress, but I’m curious.”

“Keep your questions, Casanova,” she said, but she did not ring the bell to stop the carriage.

“The book. It’s not a missal, is it?”

“What are you suggesting? It is.”

He shook his head. “It’s not nearly heavy enough to be a religious text.”

She rolled her eyes, a youthful gesture. “What do you know of religious texts, Signor Casanova?”

She meant to be cutting, but he laughed merrily. “But, Signora, didn’t you know I once vied to be part of the clergy?”

She gave him a funny look. “Nonsense!”

“Absolute truth, as everything else I might say to you, my lady,” he said. “Will you afford me the same courtesy?”

She remained perfectly stiff and silent, but again, she did not ring the bell.

Should he be bold? What else could he be?

 

 

> Duchessa Gonzaga studied the stable boy at his task. He curry combed the amber-haired beast, his broad hand running close behind to smooth down her silky hair. There was a look of peace on both boy and mare, and she wondered...how might it be to be touched so openly and lovingly as that?
> 
> Not in beeswax-scented darkness, but on a sunny afternoon with no shame and the brittle, painful lust that stemmed from it. Her nipples hardened and her breathing deepened as the boy massaged the mare’s thickly muscled legs. The horse blew out breath through her downy lips with pleasure.
> 
> She realized she envied the dumb beast. Her husband’s horse was more free to feel pleasure than she would ever be…

His voice was soft as he recited the long-memorized words. He had used them often enough as a weapon of seduction when the book, her book, had first come out. The sensational, inflammatory novel followed the sexual awakening of Duchess Gonzaga, and the cleverness and sensuality with which it had been written matched that of a well-educated if dissolute man, and not a cloistered woman.

But Giacomo had known right away that it was a woman’s voice whispering between those pages. As intelligent as men are, not one could get that trembling, aching need right. That was a woman’s lot. He chose freely to lay cheek by jowl with it, and he knew it well.

Her brow furrowed, but she remained silent.

“You’re the Conte d’Este, aren’t you?” His voice was reverent. “You wrote the book that set Venice in an uproar. The Doge himself burnt your book as an example to all decent, God-fearing Venetians. The Doge! Your what? Father? Cousin? _Brother in law_ -”

The bell tinkled insistently. “Get out.”

The carriage stopped.

“It was you. What a brilliant, erotically perverse lady. Duchessa, any man who has the luck to-”

The door opened and the livery boy climbed on to forcibly eject him from the carriage. He landed ass first in the gutter, but his smile stayed bright.

“It’s been an honor, Duchessa Mocenigo!” he yelled after the carriage.

She sighed and turned to the livery boy. “Go around once more, drop off the inessential staff, and come back this way. Tell Helio to prepare the barge.”

He nodded and stepped out of the carriage.

* * *

 A couple of drunks teetered by Giacomo, holding on to each other for dear life. He stood up.

“Where are you going?” he asked them.

“Home. We’re out of money,” the shorter, slimmer one said, shrugging.

“But you could do with another?” Giac asked.

“Always!” they yelled in unison.

He went into his pocket and flipped a coin to them. “The night is young, and lovers are still prowling, looking for new flesh to devour,” he said. His voice echoed in the canal. “Drink deep in my name, because I might’ve just found true love.” He disappeared into the dark, hands in his pocket.

The taller one picked up the large coin off the floor. “It’s a fucking zecchino d’oro,” he said. “We can damn near retire on this,” he said, suddenly very sober.

The other man snatched it from his hand. “I’m not waiting to see whether he gave us the wrong coin. Let’s go back to the inn,” he said, running awkwardly in the other direction.

* * *

He was whistling a bawdy love song when he heart a carriage coming up quick behind him.

Once he saw the black horses, he smiled. He expected her to come looking for him, but not so quickly. The livery boy opened the carriage door. He stepped inside without a word.

He sat close beside her, already drunk on the naughty scenarios he’d been imagining to keep himself warm during his long walk home, but she held him at arm’s length.

“How did you know?” she asked.

He took her hands and caressed the cups of her palms with his thumbs. “These were a clue.”

“How?”

“A duchessa, a lady of leisure, rarely has her hands uncovered, and much less stained with ink.”

“It’s the dead of summer and it’s night. What need have I for gloves?”

“Said like a true saucy mistress,” he said, leaning in to kiss her temple.

“You’re too bold!” she said, spooked. She slapped him away. He would be upset, but there was true nervousness on her face. Despite her words, she was not used to such overtures by a man like him.

The carriage stopped, and the livery boy opened the door to help her out. The moon was full as a coin, spilling silver in the lagoon.

“Beautiful,” he said, but his eyes were on her. She walked to a large, flat barge whose windows were already gilded with candle light. Another young boy helped her on. She turned to look at him, and raised her eyebrow.

He jumped on, but not before looking at the boy who would be steering. It was no boy, but a woman, swarthy as a Gaul and just as strong. The duchessa was more interesting than she put out.

He ducked into the cabin, which had wide doors on both sides that were open to let in the cool night breezes. Soft silk curtains billowed as they moved away from the pier. The floor was richly carpeted and strewn with pillows. She took off the black lace pinned to her hair and threw it aside. It floated in the wind and landed in the water. He went to grab it, but she put her hand on his and shook her head.

“Let it go,” she said softly. “Good riddance.”

She unpinned her hair, and it fell in thick coils down her back. She sighed with relief.

“I despise looking like a cobwebbed widow,” she said, throwing the silver pins in the water with increasing vehemence. He studied her, fascinated.

She pulled on a ribbon at her chest, and the front part of her dress came away slowly, exposing smooth, plump bosoms. They sighed together.

She leaned against the side of the barge and let her fingers drag in the cold water. Her hair looked like a mantle over her shoulders. As they moved toward the middle of the lagoon, he saw other barges in the distance. They most probably sought what they sought - some privacy, and respite from the oppressive heat of the city.

She kicked off her sandals, exposing well-formed feet covered in glossy black silk. The stockings were embroidered in silver thread, and birds flew up the sides of her ankles. He wanted to kiss her damp insteps, spread her legs and bury the whole top of his body beneath her skirts, heat be damned.

He wondered whether her bloomers were black too.

She looked back at him. A tendril of her hair fell into the water. He chose not to disguise the desire in his eyes. He knelt beside her and pulled the tendril from the lagoon, and the hair wet her breasts. He leaned forward, lips parted.

"I am entirely at your service, my lady,” he said. He was surprised at how genuinely passionate the words came out. He was nearly at her lips when she jumped forward, tugging at her skirts.

“I hate this black. It’s heavy, and ugly, and hot,” she said, pulling at her skirts. His eyes widened as she undid something underneath them and her hands reappeared clutching a pair of pale rose bloomers. She threw them aside and sighed, lying back down to put her hand in the water.

He plucked the bloomers from the floor and brought them close to his nose. They were so richly perfumed it was upsetting, but he brought the part that was damp near his nose. He took an opened-mouthed breath. His cock swelled in his trousers.

When he finally took them away from his face, she was staring at him, frankly curious.

“What do you get out of that?” she asked.

He lay beside her, at a fair distance. “It’s like ... the first toothsome morsel of a banquet, when I’m starving,” he said. “It whets the appetite.”

“Sweat?”

“That’s not all it was,” he said, inching closer. She looked down at her reflection. He cursed the penumbra, since he could not see her reaction to his words.

“Is that all we’re good for, Signor Casanova?” she said, tracing spirals in the water. “As _things_ to whet the appetite? You take what you want and leave, sated and unconcerned.”

“May I speak plainly, duchessa?”

She looked at him, and nodded.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. "It was a silly whim, for which I might pay dearly if the Doge finds out,” she rose, already trembling with nerves.

“You can rest assured that your secrets are safe with me,” he said.

She laughed. “Then why do I know all you’ve been up to for the last three years?” she said.

“Like I said at the ball, _I_ have never been indiscreet. The perhaps over-excited ladies, though…” he cocked his head and shrugged. “Are you curious why they’d be so shamelessly overt about their exploits, duchessa?”

She waved her hand. “Don’t call me that. Call me Stella.”

It was an unheard-of liberty.

He licked his lips and sounded it out. “Ss...sst...Stella.”

She smiled at him for the first time. “Good.”

“And you can call me Giacomo, if you wish.”

“I already have,” she said, winking at him and lying back down. She began to sing softly. The song carried on the surface of water. Her voice was sweet, if not a bit hoarse from disuse.

He laughed. It was the same song he’d been whistling earlier. He was surprised she knew of such things, but it only fascinated him further. He lay beside her, closer this time. She did not object. He watched as she mouthed the naughty words, making up his mind to get a beggar’s bliss out of the image if she left him hard and wanting. She stopped abruptly.

“What did you mean by _their_ exploits, Giacomo?” she asked.

“Because it was them, individually, that seduced me,” he said. “I was utterly bewitched, and I refused to resist.”

She gave him a half smile. “You know just what to say.”

“The truth? I find it’s always the best thing,” he said, loosening his tie. “Where did you learn that song? It’s rare to hear it coming from lips such as yours.”

“Here,” she said. “I heard it sung from a barge floating not so far from mine, not too long ago.”

He thought back. “When, exactly?”

“About two months ago, when it was cooler,” she said. “The woman’s voice was filled with such desire,” she said, looking in the distance. “So keen, it made me-”

She stopped talking. He knew the women of which she spoke very well. It was he who had inspired the song.

“It made you what?” he said softly, searching her face.

She shook her head. He inched closer, daring to trace the delicate shell of her ear. An onyx bead hung off it. He wanted to lick it wet.

“Tell me, Stella,” he said. He put his hand on the small of her back, testing her. She did not balk.

“Some women are so lucky. They are free to experiment, taste, touch, _be_ anyone they want.”

“You do know that most whores are vying to rise above their station?” he said.

“I’m not speaking about puttane,” she said. “And it’s an irony. It seems most of the ladies in my station are vying to descend to the depths. It’s a mystery to me.”

“It wasn’t a mystery to Duchessa Gonzaga,” he said. His hand moved down to her skirts, where he pulled very slowly.

“That’s fantasy, though. A silly story that got blown out of proportion.  Reality is far more complicated than just giving in,” she said. “A good woman’s life cannot be marred by scandal. No matter how great the pleasure, it can’t possibly be worth the fall.” There was a note of entreaty in her voice.

“Then you haven’t felt the right pleasure yet,” he said, pressing his lips to her temple. His hand went under her skirt and squeezed her sweat-damp thigh. She gasped. He was ready for her to slap him again, but she just spread and let his fingers trail up until they felt heat.

She sighed when he brushed against her. He smiled. She was very, very wet. He parted her lips gently and buried his fingers in her slick seam. She was plump and tight as a girl. How could a widow feel so...new?

“Turn around,” he asked. She turned and looked at him. He pinched her gently, slicking his fingers in her copious arousal. She must be aching.

“Sing, my lady,” he said, and found her hot little button and brushed it with the tips of his fingers rhythmically.

She began the tune, spreading her thighs to allow him access, but he didn’t move from her side. He meant to make her come before even considering getting inside her.

He slid his middle finger inside her as his thumb rubbed her taut button. She couldn’t carry the tune, so he sang into her skin. She was slick with sweat and he couldn’t help licking it off. Her firm breasts made him ache against her hip. He sucked hungrily at her flesh around her low neckline until one of her nipples popped free. He licked the hard bud and slid another finger inside her.

She was so aroused her cunt sucked around his fingers like a wet, hot mouth and it took everything not to move his head beneath her skirt.

“Curse you, but I wanted you…” she said, tugging at his tie to pull his face to hers. He wanted to kiss, but he could not be so presumptuous.

“Wanted me?” he said, and kissed her cupid’s bow. Her breath was warm and sweet. His cock twitched.

She rolled her hips into his surging hand. He kneaded her insides expertly, knowing she would bless him with an orgasm. Soon.

“You’re so free,” she said, raking her hands through his thick hair as he sucked the exposed flesh of her breasts. She pulled on her bodice, and her other nipple popped free. He groaned and flicked his tongue on it.

He slid a third finger inside her, and she groaned in return. She was almost too tight. How long had it been?

He looked up at her. She gave him a drowsy grin. Her black hair was a dusky cloud around her head. Her eyes glowed silver as the moon. It was a crime that such a women would not have not only one, but many men [or women, he wasn’t a bigot] flinging themselves at her feet to give her pleasure.

“And yet I would be your slave,” he said. It sounded maudlin, but at that moment, it felt true. He stretched her, almost painfully, with his fingers. His cock coveted his own hand.

“Again,” she said, pressing his face into her chest.

He slid his fingers deep inside her and spread them, delighting in her tight, pulsing flesh. His thumb still danced circles around her clit. She clenched his hand between her wet thighs.

“I’ve never had a man kiss me,” she said suddenly.

He was shocked. “Weren’t you married?”

She shrugged. “He thought it licentious.”

He made a face.

“Kissing, all the different kinds of kissing, is the only thing equal to sex,” he said, kissing her jawline. “In some cases, it’s better.” He traced the bow of her lips with his eyes. “And with a mouth as sweet as yours, it’s a shame he did not worship it, and allow it to worship him.”

“Worship?” She caressed the hair from his brow. She was clever, but so sweetly innocent he almost felt guilty. Almost.

“Can I show you?”

She looked out into the water, as if there were anyone around who cared. She nodded. He kissed her, softly sucking her lower lip then letting go.

She exhaled. “That's…”

“What?” His hand stopped moving between her thighs. He was distracted by her delicious mouth.

She put her hand over his. “Don’t stop. And kiss me again ... please.”

He kissed her deeper, brushing the tip of his tongue against her top lip. She opened her mouth to him, and soon she sucked on his tongue as eagerly as her cunt sucked on his fingers. It was almost too much to bear. She was a deep well of lust, as yet untapped. But he would resist until she begged him to take a drink.

His fingers moved quick and steady inside her, and soon her head fell back to the pillows. She moaned softly. Her breath quickened. She tightened around his fingers.

She pulled at his wrist. “Wait.”

“Why?” he asked, kissing her neck. 

“It feels strange. Like when I’ve had too much brandy and my head’s spinning and I’m about to lose control.”

“That’s the point, Stella. You say I’m free? Everyone is free for those precious seconds of orgasm. Free of pain. Or care. Nothing matters but pleasure.”

“Free,” she said, smiling. “So it’s okay, to react that way? It’s not unseemly?”

He laughed. “Unseemly? who’d utter such nonsense?”

She looked away, embarrassed.

“Oh no no no, mistress. It’s not. It’s a man’s true reason for living, and those who say not are liars.” He kissed her smooth cheek passionately. “Vile liars.”

She turned her head and he was kissing her again. She moved her hips, and his fingers moved inside her, in the same quickening rhythm. She panted as his mouth moved to her chest. He tugged her nipples gently with his teeth, knowing it would arouse her to a frenzy. She pulled at his shirt, trembling with pleasure.

What man would tell her that pleasure was unseemly? What monster would have her and shame her for actually liking it?

“I feel it,” she said, gasping.

“Let it grow,” he said, licking up the column of her neck as he kneaded into her special spot. “Until it feels you can’t bear it it feels so good.” He licked the sweat from above her upper lip.” Then, when you’re there, I’ll do this-” He twisted his hand, opening her up. She cried out, arching against him. “-and you’ll know it only gets better.”

“Better?” she said.

His hand moved hard against her pubic bone, snapping up and down like he knew would send her to the heavens.

“In the right hands, mistress,” he said, and bowed his head into her neck to concentrate.

“I want to see your eyes,” she said, tugging at his hair. He locked eyes with her. It would be much harder for him to remain impassive to his own desires with her hungry gaze, but he would try. She caressed him. “You’re beautiful, Giacomo.”

“Not as much-”

She cried out, louder and louder, as her orgasm bounced from her pussy to her heart and down her limbs. The most exquisite part of it? She smiled throughout the whole thing. Her innocent joy made him pull her to him and keep going, coaxing ever more sigh and moans from her until she finally pulled at his wrist and rolled to her side, oversensitized.

He put his arm around her tiny waist. “Do you see?”

She giggled, pressing his face to hers. “How did you do that? It’s magic,” she said, looking at his still glistening hand.

“Perhaps. But it’s my pleasure,” he said. He kissed her again, guiding her hand to the fork of his legs.

Someone opened the curtain. “Duchessa, we’ve got to go. Sun’s rising in an hour.”

They sighed into each other’s mouths.

“Of course, Helio. Head toward shore.”

“We’re already here,” he said in a tense whisper. “The carriage is waiting.”

“I see,” she said, standing up and smoothing down her skirts. The boy disappeared.  She gently tucked her breasts back into her bodice and shrugged at her tangled, sweat-damp hair.

“I suppose I must be going,” she said, looking for her bloomers. He pulled them out of his back pocket and waved them at her. When she went to grab them, he took her hand and kissed it passionately.

She caressed him, kissing his face. “I’m not nearly as free as the other women, but thank you for giving me a taste.” she said.

“I don’t regret a single second,” he said, kissing her again.

“Neither do I. I apologize that I must take my leave so abruptly,” she said, putting her slippers back on,”but there are eyes everywhere. Word has most probably gotten around that you were seen with me. The Doge will double his spies.”

“Spies?” he said, his interest piqued.

“He’s doing everything he can to find a legitimate reason to wrest his brother’s fortune from me,” she said, putting on a dark cape with a hood. “And me associating with a man like you? He’d have me over the coals in hours.”

“You can trust my discretion, my lady,” he said. His heart beat fast. A fragile women in trouble. Spies. The beginning of an explosive affair. He could live for this.

“I hope so, since it’s mostly your neck that’s in danger,” she said. She blew him a kiss, then ducked through the curtain.

“I’ll see you again. Soon,” she whispered, and the barge rocked as she was helped off.

Helio looked inside. “Come, Signor. I’ve been ordered to take you home.”

He smiled and tried to tug at his tie, but it was gone. He looked at the floor around him, but it was not there.

“Quickly!” the boy said. He rolled his eyes and jumped out of the barge, mourning his tie. It was real chinese silk.

Helio jumped into a gondola and waved at him. Just as soon as his feet touched dry land, the barge moved away from shore, to be moored elsewhere.

He jumped into the gondola.”Do you know where I live?” he asked, adjusting himself. He was still half hard and aching, but it was worth it.

“Yes, Signor,” he said, moving steadily through the canal.

“How long have you worked for Duchessa Mocenigo?”

“Ever since we were both children,” he said. He leaned into the oar to go around a corner into a narrower canal.

“Then why the artifice, pet?” he said, his eyes lingering over her bound breasts.

“Don’t tell anyone, sir, or I’m undone,” he said, stopping his rowing.

“As ever, your secret is safe with me. I have nothing to gain from the telling.”

She nodded.

“But why?”

“I am not built to be a lady in waiting. Before she got married, I ran away. Then, I came back, willing to serve as an errand boy. Anything but be in the house watching her suffer in silence at that hands of that churl,” she said.

“How ingenious,” he said, giving her a longer look. He couldn’t decide whether the woman was brave or foolhardy. Either way, she was just as fascinating as her mistress.

“We’re here,” she said, stopping at a dilapidated pier near the building where he rented the top floor.

“That we are,” he stood and slapped his thighs.

He extended his hand. Helio looked at it, puzzled. Nobles didn’t shake hands with servants. He rolled his eyes and took her hand, shaking it vigorously.

“It has been a most fortuitous night, Helio, darling,” he said, giving her a wink. “And I hope the adventure has just begun.” He jumped to the pier and waved as she rowed away. “Give your lady my best.”

She gave him a silent look, and kept rowing.

* * *

She sighed happily and sank back into the seat.

Her body still strummed from her orgasm, but miserably, she longed for more. She clenched her knees together and felt herself, heavy and throbbing.If his hand could do that, what might his _cazzo_ do?

She blushed at the naughty term for cock.

Would she writhe with pleasure as she had underneath his hand, or would he leave her cold as her husband once had? Maybe she just didn’t like the act. Her thighs slid against each other as she shifted in her seat. It didn’t feel like it, though. She liked what he said, and what he did. He had not looked at her with perplexed eyes when she demonstrated wit - in fact, he seemed delighted by it, and shown her the full measure of his.

The full measure of him. Her cheeks tingled.

She’d felt him, pressing against her hip, and been tempted to touch.

Perhaps, maybe, if they saw each other again-

She pulled his tie from between her breasts. The silk sighed as it slid out, centimeter by centimeter. She pressed it to her nose like he had pressed her bloomers to his. His spicy musk and sweat made her shiver.

If they could see each other again, away from prying eyes, maybe she could find out whether it was the act, or the actor that put her off. She kissed the silk and wrapped it around her hand.

She would devise a plan to make it so. Her curiosity demanded it.


End file.
